The Wrong Battle

Tags

poetry, Prosetry, Writing

You think I don't have the power to single you out with my  
pen, stand court over your sentences and leave you hanging 
there in the dock, a target of ridicule. To play at being judge for
a day: To bait and hook and bite down on your every verb; bitter 
objection, until all substance wears away and leaves the tongue 
baked and parched. Settle every dispute with astute, judicious, 
words? To leave you dumbfounded as a child, yet compelled as 
any fool  might insisting on a fight but choosing the wrong 
battle. 

Never Cross The Borderline

Tags

Border, Experiment, poetry, Prose, Prosetry, Truth Serum, Writing

Never cross the borderline because they like to keep
you in check. Anything further than spitting distance 
simply won't do and you'll be detained immediately. 
You'll be given the truth serum along with other methods  
to monitor and record your every thought and step: They 
need your beautiful knowledge like flowers need the 
rain.

If you're going to cross over into the land of belligerent
beasts don't be surprised if you encounter a Nazi or
two. You haven't spoken a damn word, and already
you're in danger of breaking the rules. And suddenly
your besieged with requests to join army training 
camps. Suddenly you're afraid to breathe. 

If you want to live you'll need to depend on your wit  
and find new, more covert ways to travel. If you're ever to 
survive this hell you're living in you'll need to crawl 
through a net outside or hoick yourself over a fence. 

If you do manage to survive, never forget what they did to 
you and how much they owe you. How they lacked 
compunction and had little moral regard for your welfare;
you were only ever an experiment, along with countless
others suffering the same fate. If only they'd let you 
live out the remainder of your days in peace, and never 
again have to worry about a thing.